


Summerlin

by sloganeer



Series: Panic at the West Wing [3]
Category: Panic At The Disco, The West Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-04
Updated: 2008-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're good," he says under his breath. "We're almost there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summerlin

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ljuser=wearemany, who sends me the best stories of the campaign and juser=rossetti, who reads over my shoulder.

"Sit down and buckle up, Brendon."

Spencer is only repeating what the flight attendant has asked three times already. From the back of the plane, Brendon appears at Spencer's arm.

"Less than 24 hours!" he shouts for the whole plane to hear. Brendon hasn't stopped campaigning since they took off. He started at LAX, in standby. With the obnoxiously patterned scarf, the buttons, and the hat, Brendon doesn't ever stop campaigning.

Spencer unbuckles himself to move into the middle seat, letting Brendon take the aisle. Ryan is at the window--better light for writing, he claimed.

"How can you just sit there?" Brendon won't sit down, so Spencer reaches out to pull him down. They're coming into McCarran now, where Spencer's parents are waiting for them. His mom has phoned twice already.

Josh made it clear Spencer wasn't allowed to turn off his phone, but the senator made him promise to let it go to voicemail. When he saw them off too early that morning, the senator told Spencer not to call. "I can take care of myself for a few hours at least," he had said. Spencer didn't agree, but Josh and Donna are there with him at the house in Laguna.

Spencer's only job right now is keeping Brendon in his seat. He hangs onto Brendon's hand. "The pilot needs us to sit here so he can fly."

"Fine, fine." Brendon gives him a conciliatory smile. He'll be back up and chatting to the elderly couple across the aisle when they land in Vegas, helping them off the plane and making sure they vote.

They hit a pocket of turbulence, and Brendon squeezes Spencer's hand, almost painfully. Ryan is in his head right now, seeing nothing but the page in front of him, and only twitches when Spencer puts a hand on his knee. He would ask again for numbers if Spencer hadn't threatened dismemberment. On his other side, he tries to loosen Brendon's grip. "We're good," he says under his breath. "We're almost there." Their hands turn and thread together and Spencer catches a smudge of blue ink on Brendon's palm.

"What's this?" He turns Brendon's hand up. Written in pen and mostly washed away is the number 314, 317 beside it.

"Didn't want to forget my hotel room in Miami."

"How did you get two rooms?"

"Um." He points to the 314, "The room I was assigned," then the 317, "and the room I actually slept in."

Brendon was like this when they were in college, too, but it's only gotten worse on the road. The senator talked to Spencer only once, early, just after he was offered the job, about the campaign and romance. "Misplaced passion, Spencer," he had said, and that was that.

Spencer threads their fingers together again, which Brendon takes as a sign to get comfortable, his head on Spencer's shoulder. Spencer whispers, "You just have to be safe, Brendon."

"I'm good, Spence. You don't have to worry about me."

From the window, Ryan speaks. "Doesn't mean he's not going to," he says, eyes closed, head rested on the tiny plane pillow. Spencer gives him an elbow, and Ryan hits back, and Brendon leans over to get in on the action. Ryan reaches up to pull Spencer down into a headlock, and that's when he catches a familiar smudge of blue ink.

"What is that?" Spencer asks, ducking out from under Ryan's arm, and almost immediately, Ryan retreats, back to his pen and paper.

"Nothing, nothing."

"You letting Brendon write on you, too?"

Ryan steels his face before he looks up at Spencer. Spencer isn't buying it. "Oh, you're so lucky I don't have time for this," and his phone starts to buzz.

Ryan's eyes go wide. "Tell me that's numbers."

-

When Spencer votes, he puts everything else out of his mind. The only thing he knows is that Senator Seaborn needs to be the President. He has to be, and Spencer marks his ballot, knowing it's one tiny moment, but it feels like more than that.

-

"Sit down and buckle up, Brendon."

They had a late lunch with Spencer's parents, and now he's trying to get them on the road. Brendon hugs Spencer's mom one last time and finally gets in the back of the rental car. She follows him around to the passenger side to demand another goodbye from Spencer.

"We've gotta go, Mom."

"I know, I know. Have fun tonight. Tell the senator that Nevada voted for him."

He rolls his eyes. "You don't know that."

Spencer gets out of the car for another hug because he knows she's not going to let him go without it. His phone vibrates while he's trying to disentangle himself.

"OK," his mom says, "I guess you have to get back to work."

Spencer's dad comes over for a quick hug goodbye, Brendon shouts his love from the backseat, and, finally, Ryan starts the car. Spencer's parents wave from their lawn covered in Seaborn signs as the car pulls out of the driveway and starts the trip back to California.

"Was that Josh?" Ryan asks, when Spencer settles in to check his messages. Josh slipped Ryan a list before they left: all the speeches they'll need before the night is over. Now, as the polls get closer to closing in the east, he's just nervous. "When are we getting numbers?"

It's not Josh on Spencer's phone, or the senator, or anyone from the campaign. It's Jon.

Hey. I'm in Virginia. Arlington. The Reuters house is nice, and the cats have already made it home. The movers were awesome, Spence, arrived early and were gone in an hour. So, I'll be out all day, shooting. I hope your election day is lots of fun. Say Hi to the boys. See you soon. You promised me the 5th, Spencer.

Ryan keeps looking over from the driver's seat. "What is that stupid grin?"

"Is that Jon? What's he saying, Spencer?"

Spencer slaps Brendon's hand away to listen to Jon's message again. A little bit of the tightness that was there in his chest when he woke up is gone. The butterflies in his stomach are beating faster, though.

"You're acting very unprofessional, Spencer."

"Shut up, Ross," Brendon says from the backseat. "Give it, Spencer, I wanna hear."

He gives up his phone, reluctantly, and watches in the mirror as Brendon listens to Jon's message.

"God, how have you not kissed this boy yet?"

"Spencer has standards," Ryan explains.

"Is that an accusation?" Brendon sounds affronted. "I know you love the Bden Experience."

Spencer didn't know about that. "You didn't." He looks at Brendon, then Ryan. Ryan stares straight ahead. "You didn't tell me about this."

Brendon's mouth falls open in shock. "You didn't tell Spencer?"

"It didn't mean anything." Ryan grips the steering wheel.

"Well, not if you don't tell Spencer, it doesn't." He sulks in the backseat.

"I am not doing this for the next four hours," Ryan says, and the line of his mouth says he means it.

Brendon shuts up, but he's still glaring at the rearview mirror.

"I can't believe this. Today! You want me to deal with this today?" Spencer grips his phone tight, asking it to buzz and get him out of this car. They've been on the road for twenty minutes. They haven't even left Vegas.

"It's not just sex, Spence, it isn't." Brendon pokes his head between the seats. There's no way he's wearing his seatbelt. "Tell him, Ryan."

Ryan doesn't. He's got his hands at 10 and 2, pretending to be very interested in the Corolla in front of them.

Spencer says, "Ryan," because that's all it ever takes.

"It's not just sex." In his eyes, Spencer can see how much Ryan hasn't told him.

Brendon goes, "Ha!" and ruins the moment.

"All right," Spencer announces, "everyone shut up." He turns on the radio, looking for anything but news. He finds The Beatles on the oldies station, and they listen, no one speaking, until they cross the border into California.

On the east coast, the polls are closed, and there should be numbers. Spencer can see Ryan's knuckles going white. He needs numbers if they're going to make it back to Laguna Beach alive.

"Get on the fucking phone, Spencer," Ryan tells him.

"They'll phone when they know something."

"Josh Lyman doesn't have time to phone a couple of junior staffers to let them know who's winning. We're all alone out here, Spence."

"Calm the fuck down, Ross," Brendon groans. He's on his back in the backseat, feet up on the window.

"Fuck you."

"Thank you!"

Ryan pulls off the road, sharply. He gets out of the car and leaves the door open. Spencer gets caught up in his seatbelt when he tries to follow.

"Ryan! Get back here!" But he just keeps walking. "Ryan!"

He whirls around, kicking up dust. "How am I supposed to write a concession speech? How am I supposed to write an acceptance speech, Spencer?"

"Because it's what you do. Because you've done it before, Ryan."

His eyes dart up over Spencer's shoulder, but Spencer doesn't look to see if Brendon's there. He holds Ryan in this moment, at the side of the California highway. "Ryan," he says quietly.

"But we can't know the moment, Spence. I don't know what it's going to feel like. We can't know the moment until the moment."

He smiles because Ryan doesn't get it. "You're doing it right now," he says, and Ryan looks up, lost. "We can't know the moment until the moment?"

"Fuck." From his jacket pocket, Ryan pulls out his notebook and a crumpled sheaf of loose leaf paper. "Brendon, gimme your lighter."

There, on the highway, beside the rental car that's supposed to take them back to the campaign, on the day of the biggest election of their lives, Ryan decides to start a bonfire. He burns the words he wrote on the plane, everything the senator was supposed to say if he won, if he lost, if he won the popular vote, but lost the White House, every name and city and anecdote he was supposed to tell. Because the day isn't over yet, and no one can know the moment until it is.

Spencer's phone breaks the silence. He's been holding it since he got Jon's message, in the car during the fight, and when the car got pulled over and the shouting spilled out onto the highway. He looks at the display, and there's Josh's name and number.

"You guys, you guys."

Ryan and Brendon jump up from the fire. Their hands come together between them, another reason for the smile breaking Spencer's face.

"We've got numbers."


End file.
